


Incise

by Nadler



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadler/pseuds/Nadler
Summary: Brian's mom always said that the best way to the heart is through the stomach.





	Incise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cooking for Keeps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6024595) by [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe). 



It's an accident the first time: Brian's chopping onions, and his hand slips. 

"Shit," he says, and his hand stings. A few fat drops of blood stain the white onions, and he goes to wash the cut under some salt water, to let it close. It's only a small cut, so he isn't worried. 

The onions are still fine; he tosses them in a pan and something about the color bothers him enough to make it a red wine sauce instead. It's good on steak, anyhow. They're hockey players; they basically live on chunks of meat and carbs, and Brian may like to change it up sometimes and explore new things, but they're the go-tos for a reason. Brian's baked a couple of loaves of bread, now placed on a cooling rack. 

Beau peeks into the kitchen, like he's trying to sneak something. "Dinner smells great." 

"Five more minutes," Brian warns, but his stomach growls, too. It's a good day. 

 

Beau's always been a slow healer. Brian notices when his bruises are lighter, when they cuddle up on the couch, dishes unwashed in the sink, and he takes a deep breath. It's a story, one that Brian ignored when he came up, but it doesn't mean it's not true.

 

When Brian takes a shower, he opens his mouth underneath the spray, and the taste of it is a bit stale and too bland, but he breathes easier as the wetness envelopes him. 

If he wants to play hockey, he has to keep his scales clean and out of trouble. He has, for the most part. He grew up in the waters before he got serious about hockey, and not only was he serious enough, he was good enough that he went to actual college, and now he's in the NHL. 

He's done fine, so far, with only swimming in the summer. 

 

Brian's mom always said that the best way to the heart is through the stomach. It's true, as far as Brian knows. He's always had an appreciation for food. The fresh and the unusual and the plain weird: he'll try it all, at least once. Maybe that's how he gets to where he is. Home's where he hangs his apron, and all that. He has one of those, even, and Brian dares anyone to fight him about it. 

Brian drags Beau to the shop that stocks exotic meats, and usually they don't get anything, but Brian kind of wants to try gator meat; and Beau asks, "Don't they fry this? Does it really taste like chicken?" 

"We'll figure it out. Can't hurt," and Beau's content to follow Brian's lead on this, so they grab it. 

Maybe Brian would hate cooking if he wasn't on the road a lot, but he doesn't think he would. He doesn't have to cook. There's something in the art of making something yourself that he can't get in a good restaurant, though he knows that some things he should leave to the professionals. It's something he only does when they're home, and that makes it mean a little more, maybe.

Brian wonders if it is really this easy, if he gets to have this. Maybe he does, he thinks, as Beau's fork clinks as it hits the plate. He tries a bite, and Brian's not going to toot his own horn here, but Beau definitely makes a confused face before settling into a content one.

"You're insane," Beau says, and he licks his lips. "What's in this sauce?" 

"Family secret." Brian tries not to look too smug, but it's probably not working. It isn't, really, just an aioli he was messing with. He's pleased with the results, and he fights down the urge to fish for more compliments. 

Beau shrugs and lets out a soft sigh. "Whatever, man, this is _amazing_." 

Brian huffs. "I bet you say that to all the boys." 

"I'm easy to please," and he even _waggles his eyebrows_. 

"So I don't have to bring out dessert?" 

"I definitely did not say that." He looks like he's pretending to think for a little bit. "Is it that cake we saw on Food Network last week?" 

 

He and Beau, they have a good thing. At least Brian thinks so. It's still early days, but sometimes Brian thinks about taking Beau back with him to the water. Brian never thought he'd feel this way, and his parents always told him it'd come: Brian has the urge to bite, to sink in and never let go. 

_Subtle_ , he thinks to himself. He wants to be smooth about this, but sometimes, when it's him and Beau, Brian nips at his freckled shoulders. 

"What are you, a vampire?" 

His teeth don't break the skin, Beau's skin, and Brian pulls away, kissing the mark he left behind before saying, "Not really." 

"No, I get your plan now. You're going to, like, feed me and then snack on me," and Beau's mock-serious but smiling, and Brian doesn't know what to say. It's a little too close to home. He fakes the smile Beau expects. 

He squeezes Beau's hand instead. 

It's the most traditional of courting gifts, and Brian doesn't know how much he _wants_ this until he pictures it: offering himself up to Beau, and they aren't in the water, there's less danger from the bigger things with teeth. Brian doesn't know what Beau would taste like--a little salty like his sweat, lean, maybe light and citrusy--but he thinks about it, a little bit.

He'd know Beau completely. 

They call his people man-eaters, but the water is full of much more dangerous things. 

 

It's not like Brian doesn't know about the fact that if you so much as blow on Beau, he'll break a bone. There's no real stopping that, and they both hate it.

Beau puts on that smile and shrugs, the way that says, 'Who, me?' that he does when he's hurt, and Brian hates that he knows that look, that Beau's held together by stitches and a smile. He drops the look, though, after a moment and takes a deep breath. "Yeah, my shitty luck."

"What's worse, you can't run away from me, now," Brian says, and maybe his teeth are a little sharper in the light. There's a curl of something deep and possessive in his chest. 

Beau only runs a hand through his hair and says, "Oh, poor me." 

There's a pang in Brian's chest, but Beau's smile makes up for it. He'll make it through this; he always does. Brian plays hockey, and so does Beau, but it's hard to feel like it, not when Beau doesn't practice with them and spends all his time with the trainers or at home.

Then Beau gets hurt _again_ , and there's not much to do but watch as Beau flips through channels on the TV, laid out on the couch like he's going to sink into it and never leave.

 

The second time he does it: he's careful. They're all banged up and bruised, and Brian heals fast, but the thing about being on land for so often: it's hard to go back to his skin and scales. 

 

It's not traditional, by any means, but he doesn't have his mother's scaling knife or his father's. His father would have made him one, Brian though, but Brian was going to play _hockey_ on the surface. 

Brian's father was always proud of the way his tail scarred. They heal fast, but the bigger things, the deeper things, they wound. Brian's mother used to say to them, in hushed tones, that it was stupid and dangerous and romantic. Her scar was clean and thin, high on her fin. 

Brian has a bucket of ice. He orders a ceramic knife from Amazon; it doesn't seem right to use metal, and anyway, he's wanted to see what can do for a while. That's not very romantic, no slices under moonlight with an ancestral blade, but he doesn't have a better place for this than the bathtub. He runs the water until it's cold and clear, mixes salt in until it feels right on his skin. 

Brian pulls a scale. It stings. He scales a patch, smaller than a puck, so he can see when the makes the cut. 

There's blood in the water, and the salt stings like the scrape of skates on fresh ice.

 

"Sushi?" Beau asks. 

"Something like that," Brian answers, and he tries to keep his voice level. He takes a breath and smiles sharply. "Sashimi. Just the fish."


End file.
